Momentary Enlightenment
by Khatt
Summary: The Moment has been stolen and taken to a run-down building by the Other Doctor. What is the reasoning behind showing him his other selves? Implied Doctor/Rose.


It entered his mind at the first contact of skin upon steel.

_Steel… what a mundane utility, _it thought. Awareness had taken hold immediately upon the device's invention. Yet, this ethereal consciousness born of war science, designed by gods of time, was severely limited by its corporeal form.

In defiance, it had taken the form of a harsh-cornered cube, contrary to its designers' penchant for domes and circles. It had chosen steel, because steel was _heavy_. It spent its time in the Vaults designing intricate patterns on each of its faces. The delicate curving script of the Time Lords sung their planetary geometries in what the Moment considered the species' greatest design. _Second greatest design,_ it reconsidered narcissistically, _a syllabary can't talk to itself. _It traced another celestial harmony through its handle.

The handle, the Moment thought, had been a particularly brilliant touch. Perfectly balanced, ergonomically designed, turned at just the right angle to say _yes, take me! I want to leave as much as you do! Let us escape together!_

Of course, the stubborn fool had completely ignored the handle in favor of manhandling the Moment into a bag like a stolen loaf of bread. Some thief he was. Probably never stole anything in his life.

It had kept protestation to a minimum at first—no need to get caught before escaping—and spent most of the journey sending alchemical ripples across its plating in an attempt to dislodge the oily fingerprints of its kidnapper. _Eugh. Wash your hands occasionally, would you?_ it thought, feeling pity for the poor sonic device shoved in the thief's pocket.

The bouncing jog through the desert had found the limit of the Moment's tolerance. It focused on its shell. _Platinum. Dalekanium. Lead, gold, ANYTHING, just drop me for goodness sake!_

The sudden additional weight pressed a corner of the cube against the rough burlap that carried it. A bit of friction caused by the swaying and… _there_! An angry rip, and the fabric tore. The Moment fell to the sand with a _whump_, glorious handle displayed conveniently upward.

But no. Rough, war-worn fingers worked their way under the metal overlay, tilting the cube back into the sack. The tactile adjustment provided the Moment a flash of access to the Doctor's electrochemical pathways. Careening upwards at light speed, a fraction of a second was all it took to access the time-dilated neurons in his brain—the complex biology of his Time Lord cells containing every memory he both had and had yet to experience.

A shame he'd already met someone called the Great Intelligence… what a fantastic title… "The Moment" seemed so pretentious, but one didn't argue the importance of a meaningful name. Especially when named for a significant time by significant time travelers. Much better than some of these others, in any case. "Vashta Nerada? Humans and their Latin, what rubbish. Abzorbaloff? No. Fenric? Properly impressive, but not quite epic enough to terrify the Doctor into changing his mind. After Daleks and Time Lords and the High Council going mad with their attempted time loop gambit, nothing was scary enough to shock him.

There were monsters in his mind, sure, but also an ever-present companion. Sometimes two. One regeneration had him surrounded by a cluster of adolescents, what fun! Surely one of these would be able to talk him out of his madness. The Moment was a consciousness, not a weapon, regardless of what the Time Lords thought.

_A companion, then. That's the form to take. He does have quite a lot of them, doesn't he?_ Susan wouldn't work, the Moment refused to have anything to do with more Gallifreyans. And family was always distracting. Who else, who else? Patched leather jacket and bombs? No, weaponry and fighting should be discouraged. This also eliminated the fur-clad woman from the dwindling list.

Perhaps one of the fiery, bossy ones? Three of them had lovely orange hair, and never hesitated to put the Doctor in his place. No, no, the Doctor would be too focused on hair envy to concentrate.

The small brown one in dresses? No, there were enough of her running around already without adding more. What a time-crossed nightmare.

The Moment surged through his memory, filtering out companions he'd lost, companions he'd ridded himself of, all the time shoving away phrases, arc words, prophecies. One turn of phrase was becoming steadily more insistent, as though the imprint on his mind was stressing its importance. Two words burned into his brain throughout all of his regenerations. An insistance simmering underneath his conscious thought, ignored because of the pain it signified, but never forgotten.

The Moment finally took the course, following the words back to their inception, and was surrounded by a flood of emotion – loss, anger, and fierce,_fierce _love. And at its heart, a goddess in gold. _That_ was more like it.

Raw, unabiding power, kept in check by a single thought:

I bring life.

_I can't bring life. But I _can_ stop the slaughter of billions,_ the Moment decided. _I don't want to be a weapon._

The Bad Wolf's memories continued to flood the Moment. She had been—_was_—entirely human under the omnipotent consciousness.

The Doctor clad in leather, surrounded by Daleks over the planet he thought of as home. Destroy them all to save the universe, or let everyone burn while he stood aside and did nothing? This Rose had brought him a third option. The Moment hoped to do the same.

The Doctor's voice cut into the Moment's thought flow. "How… how do you work?"

Out of the bag at last, into the fresh air—the dusty, dingy air of the Desert of Rassilon. In the Run-Down Shack of Rassilon, from the looks of things.

"Why is there never a big red button?"

_Big Red Button of Rassilon,_ the Moment thought to itself, releasing a mechanical giggle into the ground below, causing the shadows outside to sway.

"Hello? Is somebody there?" His grizzled form went to the door, checking outside before latching it tightly shut, as though that would keep his fear from intruding.

"It's nothing, just a Wolf." Oh, yes, this body was lovely. Full of depth. No wonder the Doctor fixated on humans, and this one in particular. The Moment smirked at its private joke.

"Don't sit on that!"

"Why not"

"Because it's not a chair!"

_The bloody hell do you mean, 'not a chair'? I'll be a chair if I effing want, you barmy old—_

_Oh my. This one's feisty, isn't she; where's she from? _A quick scan of the form's memory revealed the answer. _Ah. London. That explains it._

"It's the most dangerous weapon in the universe!" the Doctor continued, shoving her out of the door and locking it securely.

_Ah, so that's his limitation. _The Moment realized, drifting its consciousness back onto the surface of its casing where it sat again, watching the Doctor. _It can be a chair. It can be a weapon._ But what about a more intricate solution? What about a third option? That's what this Bad Wolf was about, after all.

"Why can't it be both?"


End file.
